


Birds Of A Feather

by tomy



Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomy/pseuds/tomy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Devon asks Michael to investigate a string of cruel murders inside an American Military prison. Nothing is as it seems. (MB eventually) Dark Fic *WIP*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Disclaimer: Knight Rider characters copyright Glen A Larson, etc.  
Birds of a Feather copyright S Welsh  
Author's Notes: This will become a very dark fic.  
Thanks tons to Knightshade for the speedy beta :)

Birds Of A Feather  
by Tomy

"Hey, Mike." Michael smiled brightly, recognizing the blond man as he slid into the seat across from him.

"John, what are you doing in this part of the woods?"

Arranging his burger and taking a sip of his drink, "same old, same old. The FBI gets called out to yet another domestic affair and I get the case."

"Ahh, but you're just so good at them." Michael took a sip of his drink, looking around the fast food joint out of habit.

"I hear you have a doozey case in your lap?"

Michael just eyed the man across from him for a moment; then started chuckling. "Where do you get your information?"

"Come on, Mike, we've been friends long enough for me to keep half an eye on you."

Shrugging his acknowledgement, Michael took another bite before speaking. "Devon gave me the option of this case."

"So you are taking it?"

"Yeah, why?" It was enough for Michael to pause from eating.

"Okay, I always knew you were crazy, but this is insane. You're actually willing to walk into a max security joint?! Without Kitt?!" Though John had kept his voice low, the implications came across.

"Why the sudden interest?"

John sat back. He had always envied and admired Michael Knight, despite the small amount of information Michael had given him on _how_ he landed the job. "Mike, you and I have both lost a number of friends in this field." Michael's eyes dropped for an instant. "I just don't want to lose another good friend."

"I'll be careful." Michael smiled knowingly. John just snorted darkly.

*

John didn't get many opportunities to speak with the FLAG agent anymore. They both had full caseloads, but as they said their goodbyes and he watched Kitt peel out of the parking lot, he was left with the sinking knowledge of Michael's naivety.

*

Walking into Devon's office, Michael felt a bit leery. The conversation with John had left him with a bad feeling. Striding in as he usually did, knowing Devon was expecting him, he made his way to the corner of the desk. As he was about to perch on the corner, Devon held out a folder without looking up for his mountain of paperwork.

Chuckling, Michael took it from the outstretched hand.

"I want you to be sure of this, Michael."

Michael paused in his perusal of the folder. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he asked slowly.

Looking up at the young man, Devon took a deep breath. "We both know what it's like inside prisons. This is a maximum security facility, catering mostly to American war criminals, or veterans gone awry. There will be little chance for us to cover you if the need arises."

"Devon, I know the deal. Guys are dying in there, I have to do something. And I can take care of myself," he added almost as an afterthought.

"I'm well aware of that." There was an easy smile accompanying Devon's words. "That isn't always enough."

Michael nodded slowly, turning back to the files in his lap. "So the warden asked us in after a string of suspicious deaths."

"Yes," Devon acknowledged the change of subject. "The only connection we can find to the deceased..."

"Other than being convicted of murder," Michael interjected only, to receive a stern look.

"...is that they are all new to the facility."

"Could this be a test of some kind?"

"Possibly. If so, that would place you in further danger."

Michael raised an eyebrow at the obvious jab. "You really don't want me to accept this, do you?"

Leaning back, fiddling with the pen in his hand, Devon decided to take the honest approach. "I'm of two schools of thought regarding this."

"I'm listening." Flipping the folder shut, he twisted on the edge of the desk.

"On one hand, there are men unjustly being murdered. Most of the deaths have been horrible, drawn out events. And I wholeheartedly believe they should be investigated and stopped." He paused for a moment to allow Michael to digest that. "On the other hand, you have come to mean a great deal to me - to most everyone at the Foundation. I'm very leery of sending you into such a dangerous situation without proper backup or resources." Devon quickly raised a hand as Michael's mouth opened. "I want you to be completely sure of this decision, and whatever it may be, I'll stand behind it."

Nodding slowly, Michael considered Devon's words. "Let me read through this. I'll sleep on it tonight and give you my answer tomorrow."

"Fair enough."

Standing, file in hand, he strode to the door with full intentions of approaching his partner with this. Pausing for a second in the doorway, he looked back towards the man who had become his mentor and father. "Devon..." He watched as the blue eyes lifted. "What you just said to me, it means a lot." An affectionate smile answered him.

*

He'd been sitting on Kitt's hood for the past three hours going over the file, trying to find a connection, possibly a reason for the attacks. Between the files in his hand, and what Kitt could dig up, he knew pretty much all there was to know about the three men, and many of the inmates. The facility wasn't overly large; though well known for violent outbursts. Not something Michael found shocking considering most of the men inside had a lot of combat experience.

"You've been awfully quiet, Partner?"

He swore he heard Kitt sigh. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What do your instincts tell you?"

"About this case?" Michael shrugged. "That I need to do something about it. That I *can* do something about it."

"So you've made your decision?"

Sitting up, Michael swung off the hood, moving to the door before dropping down inside. Rationally, there was no need for him to do this, Kitt could see him and feel him from his place on the hood, yet being inside the cabin, facing the modulator, it gave him the feeling of being closer to Kitt. "What's your instinct?" he prodded gently.

"I'm very ill-at-ease with this case."

"I had a feeling you'd say that."

"There's no way for me to protect you inside. No way for us to communicate if you need anything." There was a definite note of concern tingeing Kitt's voice.

"Yeah but, Kitt, I fought alone for many years before we met. I've been in prison and in military camps before."

"You sound very sure of yourself."

"I am." As he said it, voiced it, the feeling, the need to accomplish this settled comfortably in his gut.


	2. 2

The mess hall was much as Michael expected. Whitewashed walls, long rows of tables with plastic benches, spotlessly clean and simply organised. The lineup to the serving area was closely monitored - no surprise there. Following everyone else's lead, he slowly made his way up to get food. For the most part it seemed that everyone did as they were told calmly and orderly. That stuck an odd cord in him. No prison was ever this obedient. He had the sneaking suspicion that when all Hell broke loose, it was going to be quite the event.

The cliques were glaringly obvious. Men always remained within certain groups, those groups rarely intermingled. Again, not overly surprising, these groups usually developed to protect one another, keep the violence down; he'd seen enough of them, been involved in them, to know their purposes.

As per his usual routine for the past two weeks, he took a seat in the farthest corner with the entire room in his vision. He looked distastefully down at his tray. Devon would pass out at the sight, never mind having to consume this junk. His stomach, however, approved of the entree.

Slowly the room filled up with inmates, more guards adding to the organised chaos as well. He knew the jails were over populated, but to see this many men, day after day, in an enclosed space like this was unnerving. The rows of benches around him filled quickly. His position allowed him to see most of the room, but now it also showed him how claustrophobic the facilities became.

"Well, lookie at the Pretty-boy." Michael mentally rolled his eyes. He had been waiting for the first move.

"Deaf, or mute?" the brutish inmate's buddy voiced.

"More like deaf and dumb." Couldn't they come up with anything original? "Isn't it said all white pussys with blue eyes are deaf?" Michael bit back the smile, that one was actually semi-clever.

Looking at his now mostly empty tray, Michael figured it would be worth not finishing to avoid the ensuing conflict. Without looking at the two trying to crowd him, Michael picked up his tray, and turned to leave.

"Definitely dumb," the first brute stepped into his personal space.

Quirking an eyebrow, Michael tried once more to ignore them.

"Not worth your time are we?" His shoulder was roughly grabbed as they swung him back around. Brute Number One surreptitiously reached an arm behind himself catching Michael's attention, causing his body to stiffen, ready for the attack he knew was about to come. Straightening to his full height, he hoped his size might dissuade them.

Placing his tray slowly on the table, he faced the two for the first time, acknowledging their presence. "Is there something I can do for you two?" He kept his voice calm, obliging, but his eyes never left either of them, his mind paying close attention to the still hidden hand. They were of average height, about six feet tall, dark hair and eyes, Hispanic if he had to guess. Yet he didn't remember seeing them beforehand in the crowds. His concern upped a few notches as his instincts screamed at him to get away quickly.

"What ya in for?" the second leaned over the first's shoulder.

'A lot of trouble in a second,' Michael's mind commented. "Nothing I'm willing to admit to."

They both smirked in amusement

"Now if you two don't mind..."

"What if we do?" the hand whipped out, a crude knife nicking Michael's arm causing a slow trickle of blood to run over his wrist. He'd managed to catch the skin just right.

"I see you two want to make a point, so please do it, then we can all go our own ways." They were whelps, trying to intimidate, of that he was sure. Unfortunately, the knife they were wielding demanded his attention.

"Another smart ass. Let's see just how smart you are."

With that it began. Hastily picking up the tray, Michael deflected a number of attacks brute Number One tried with the knife. That's when Number Two stepped in, wrenching the tray away, distracting him with futile jabs to his lower back, all the while Number One was getting shots in with the knife, and a few punches for good measure. As the knife skinned his cheek, Michael decided he'd had enough. Flipping Number Two over him, he made sure the guys legs took out Number One in the process. The knife skittered across the tile floor disappearing out of sight as a number of guards came up, deciding it was time to break things up.  
Two days later, standing in the side office of the Warden's wing, Michael felt strangely antsy. At least they were going to grant him privacy when it came to his meetings with Devon. Not that he had a lot to report at this point in time. Talking to these guys was as effective as talking to a cement road block. Social time was severely limited and until he proved himself, he just wasn't worth anyone's time. Then again, what did he expect in a maximum security prison? These guys didn't faze easily.

Pacing the small room, he tried to organize his thoughts. The knife fight in the mess hall had to be a test; nothing else made sense. A few questions kept running through his head: one - why fight in such a visible location, two - where the Hell did they manage to get a knife? and three - where had those two disappeared to?

Granted, prisoners were constantly smuggling things in and out, but to have a dagger...? Michael ran a hand through his hair continuing to pace. Reasonably, they could have been placed in solitary confinement, in which case Michael knew he wouldn't be seeing them any time soon.

It all seemed contrived to him, too well planned. He'd managed to overhear the men talking, learning that everyone knew which guards were where at all times - not that that was so incredible - they also knew which guards would turn a blind eye. Yes there was always one around, but this place seemed to be pulsing with apathetic guards. Frightening concept for a place filled to the brim with violent, highly trained men, but maybe the military granted it's people a bit of leeway.

He stopped. Could the guards be in on this as well? Having no idea who the good guys and the bad guys were changed the rules. But it made sense. A shudder ran through him; so what other weapons were lurking about? The guards could smuggle pretty much anything in for the right price.

The one small door opening jerked him out of his thoughts. Expecting to see Devon, Michael was mildly surprised to see Bonnie walk in.

"What do I owe this honour to?" It was good to see her, more than good, if he cared to admit it.

"Devon is speaking to the Warden, you and I have some business."

Michael raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Not today, Dear, I have a headache."

Just to hear that, coming from her was more than enough to relax him, and make him laugh.

"But, I do have something for you. I made these up, I hope you don't mind." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a set of dogtags. Stepping up to him, standing on tip toe, she hung them around his neck. Staying close, as if she were hugging him, "Inside the tags is a communication device direct to Kitt. If you need anything, press on it and it'll activate. It's voice only, but the best I could do with such limited space."

Surprised to feel her so close, he took advantage of the sudden intimacy of the moment, using it to return the hug, to let himself relax further as he listened to her voice in his ear.

"Thanks, Bon." He was in no rush to let go.

"That bad is it?" she felt him take a deep breath. She'd had to force herself not to show the ever building concern she was feeling for him. The fresh bruises and cuts did nothing to dispell it either.

"Yes and no. I just can't let my guard down. It's nice to have a minute," he answered honestly.

Tightening her arms around his neck, she encouraged him to rest his head on her shoulder. "Have you discovered anything?" He relaxed further into her.

He shook his head, closing his eyes. "Nothing substantial. The knife fight was a test. I'm the newest inmate, they're taking their time with me. From what I've heard and seen they size up the newcomers, then attack. If they survive the various trials, then they are welcomed into the community."

"And a knife fight was the first?" Her concern for him was growing in leaps and bounds. He was tired, that was obvious. The bruises and cuts were nothing far from the norm with him, but his attitude was worrisome.

He pulled back smiling, "they aren't exactly known for playing around." Michael decided to shut his mouth as he took in her expression. It mirrored his own feelings - not that he'd let her, or Devon know that little tidbit.

He tucked the dogtags under his blue denim shirt. "Thanks for these. It's good to know I have a safety blanket."

Placing a hand against his swollen cheek, "be careful, please."

"Michael," the both jumped as Devon entered the room, oblivious to the exchange between the two, Devon launched into his report. Michael smiled softly at Devon's abrupt and somewhat oblivious manner. The more curt the older man became, the more it proved just how concerned and upset he was trying to hide.

"I've managed to track down only one of the two you identified as your attackers the other day. The Corporal in question attacked a Senior Officer, practically beating him to death for no apparent reason. His lawyer tried to have him arraigned on mental charges, but that case couldn't hold water, hence his detainment here. The knife they used was never recovered, the Warden figures one of the other inmates acquired it during the confusion. A cell to cell search will be conducted. We've agreed that you will remain in a cell of your own for your stay. Obviously the danger has increased and I'd like to make sure you have some time alone and in relative safety.

Michael heaved a sigh of relief, one that was echoed by Bonnie. "So where are my would be attackers now?"

Devon's brow furrowed. "Oddly, the Warden refused to divulge that information."

Running a hand through his hair, Michael stepped away from Bonnie unconsciously beginning to pace again. "I guess that it really doesn't matter where they are."

"Have you discovered anything else?"

"Nada. Then again, there are only a few hours during the day I can mingle, the rest of the time I'm locked away." Michael shrugged, "I think this is gonna take some time."

"Probably not," Devon interjected. "If they follow pattern, you won't have much peace from here on in. The other men they targeted were harassed rather quickly and dispatched within the first month."

"I love your comforting speeches." Michael commented with great sarcasm. "But on the other hand, I can't stand this waiting around to be targeted. I know it's coming, and I'd much rather deal with it then sit on my hands waiting for the inevitable."

Devon nodded somewhat lost in thought for a moment. "Bonnie gave you your dogtags?" It was clear Devon knew their actual purpose. Michael nodded. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. I've arranged a meeting such as this once a week."

"And the excuse being?"

"The other inmates need not know of your dealings." Devon's answer was curt.

"You don't think the men will become suspicious when I keep getting special treatment?"

"What would you have me do then? How do you report in?"

"Everyone writes letters," Michael shrugged.

"And what if everyone isn't on the up and up?" Bonnie ad just read his mind, and from the expressions he was receiving, he'd just reveled that suspicion on his face.

"I thought as much," Devon further confirmed. "I'd much rather conduct these meetings in person, if for no other reason other than to check up on your well-being."

Michael opened his mouth, then shut it, touched by their obvious concern.


	3. Chapter 3

Michael waited until everyone was out in the yard before wandering out of his cell for their regualrly scheduled free time. What the Hell was he doing here? Maybe Devon had been right. This operation was so well put together - assuming that there even was an operation here - that he couldn't find any proof of foul play. The murders had stopped and no one was talking about them.

Sighing, Michael ran a hand through his hair. Maybe it was just the oppressive atmosphere. He longed to lose a game of chess to Kitt, to be ragged out by Devon, to be chastised by Bonnie. Funny how those things had become familiar and comforting. None of them were great emotion showers - quite the opposite; and in the years he'd been a part of FLAG he'd learned his friend's ways of showing how much they cared. He'd never realised just how tactile they'd become. Shaking hands with Devon, to Devon patting him on the shoulder to Bonnie hugging him every chance she got. Even Kitt enveloped him in his own way. Having paid attention to Michael's likes and dislikes, he knew exactly what temperature to maintain the interior of the car - how warm, or cold would suit each day, each mood. And he was missing that new aspect of his life greatly. He'd only been locked in this place for a few weeks, yet Michael found himself longing for the open road. He had, on a few occasions, bitched about the constant noise of Kitt's engine and turbine whine - those seemed peaceful in comparison. The guards turned a blind eye to after lights out conversation, as long as it was whispered. All those men murmuring most of the night was grating on his nerves. He felt like there was no solace, no moment of peace, like those voices were plotting against him. Combining that with the lack of action was bordering on neurosis.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Michael glanced back up to find the guard who had been escorting him strangely absent. His gut clenched. Spotting the open doorway to the exercise area, Michael made a bee-line for it.

Whispering footsteps behind him caused him to pause to look over his shoulder. Too late he realised his mistake. From the three accesses to outside, men were pouring inside the building cutting off his path.

Backing up slowly, Michael's mind raced. They were converging on him, and he had nowhere to go, no one to cover him. Dread turned to fear. They backed him inside, away from where the guards could help him, away from anyone who knew what he was doing here.

"Look, guys, can we talk about this?" The only response he got was a few sniggers and an evil sneer from the man he believed to be running this gig.

Bumping into the metal staircase railing stopped his retreat. There was nowhere left to go. Turning his head slightly, he caught the movement behind him. Seeing the doorway open to his left, he bolted, if he could get out in the open...

The sting on his back caused him to stumble. Trying to regain his equilibrium, another stinging blow sent him sprawling.

They caught up to him, one of the thugs grabbing him by the hair, wrenching his head back. On his hands and knees, surrounded, the door a hundred yards away, he knew he was trapped. Looking around, feeling the stickiness running over his shoulder blade, he waited, trying to gauge them. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Almost giggling, a sound that seemed completely wrong for the big guy approaching him, the light from the overhead florescent glinted off the piece of metal in his hand. He ran the vicious looking weapon down the side of Michael's face. It was ragged and sharp enough to cut the skin without any force.

"Now, now, you don't wanna go messing up that pretty face." The metal was replaced by hand, caressing. Michael's stomach churned. They closed in on him, someone stood on his legs, trying not to show the pain, he waited, gasping for air as more pressure was placed on the back of his calves.

"Oh look, a tough guy." The remark was met by laughter as a shoe connected with his ribs. The guy holding his hair didn't let go as his hands and knees came off the floor from the blow. His knees hit the ground hard, jarring him.

He felt a hand on the back of his thigh, moving slowly up his leg. Shuddering, the guy holding his hair yanked his head back again in an attempt to hold him in place.

"Don't damage him too much," the voice came from over his back, he could feel how close the other had moved. "Not until we're done with him." The hands had continued their travels, up his thigh, over his ass to his waist, as the hands moved around to the front, moving to undo his jeans, Michael felt the fear change to revulsion. To rage.

Kicking out behind, he felt his heel connect with something hard. The one who was touching him fell back.

'Gotta Get Out Of Here!' was the only thing he could hear.

No longer feeling pain, he sat up, elbowing the one who thought he had him in submission in the gut. The sound of air rushing out of him was mildly satisfying.

He heard the snap and his brain registered the whip as what had sent him sprawling before. Adrenaline coursing through him, he barely felt the two blows that landed on his back. He reached out,trying to grab the whip as two more inmates converged on him, hitting him, kicking him, he felt the jagged piece of metal gouge his outstretched arm. Spinning, throwing a punch at the same time, he nailed the wielder in the face, cartilage breaking under his fist.

The whip continued to land on him, time and again as he was distracted with the others closer to him. Every time he turned there was someone in his face or at his back. The lash continued to hit him, breaking skin, occasionally hitting one of the other inmates sending them scurrying away.

Flipping another over his shoulder, his mind still screaming at him to get out of there, he turned to face the man with the whip. It cracked in front of his face, but he was too far gone to notice. Panicking, the other man sent the whip flying directly at Michael's face. Grabbing the lash, feeling it bite into his right hand as he wrapped the leather around his fist, he pulled for all he was worth. His assailment let go of the hilt. Catching the end as it skittered passed him, Michael reversed the situation, sending the lash at the other man. It wrapped around his neck as Michael hauled back on the hilt. There was no mistaking the sound as the man's head jerked backwards, his full out escape halted in an instant.

Michael watched in horror as the body fell to the ground. Hearing something behind him, he spun, catching the railing beside him to keep from losing his balance. The last men remaining backed away from him, eyes wide with shock and respect.

They hadn't been gentle with him. The guards had finally been alerted and came rushing, fully armed into the common area. The others, happily passed the blame onto him. Still in shock, adrenaline flowing through his veins he'd fought the guards. They retaliated with force, nearly knocking him senseless.

He woke inside the solitary cell, still bleeding, shivering in his torn clothes. If the inmates had wanted to scare him, they had succeeded. Bigtime.

Moving was extremely painful, the whip had torn through his shirt, through his skin leaving welts and bloody smears on the wall behind him. His legs hurt, his hands hurt, and in the small amount of light he had, he could see where the lash had sliced his palm. Shifting caused the pain to become nearly unbearable. They had not treated his wounds. From what he could remember after receiving the butt of a gun to his temple, two guards had grabbed him under his arms and dragged him here.

Reaching for the dog tags around his neck, his shaking hands needing a few tries before he could lift them off his clammy skin. It then took another few tries before his hands would close around the small device planted inside, activating it.

"Kitt..?" His voice was gruff, sounding odd to his own ears, his head pounding with it.

"Michael?!" The quiet call was enough to set his soul at ease. "Michael where are you?"

"I'm in solitary, Pal, and I need help." He tried to swallow, the motion burning his throat.

"How long have you been there?" Even though Kitt kept his voice down, the genuine concern was evident.

Taking a shaky breath, he looked around him. "I have no idea. What time is it?"

"Shortly after three o'clock in the morning." It had been just after one in the afternoon when he'd been forced back inside the building.

"God, Kitt, get me out of here, please." Trying to find a comfortable position on the concrete floor was impossible.

"I'm on my way. Keep talking so I can triangulate your location."

"They worked me over pretty bad." Giving up on finding comfort, he sought to remain conscious, to be able to get to Kitt when he arrived.

"How badly?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I've been out for hours."

"I don't understand. Devon left direct orders to be notified if you were injured."

"It happened inside, out of the Warden's view, then they dragged me down here."

"With no medical attention?"

"Kitt, I did something..."

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it once you're out of there." The trust, the fiercely protective tone stung. How would Kitt handle knowing? Would he be able to forgive him, be able to work with him? Would Devon understand? Or had he just ended his career in a move driven by fear.


	4. Chapter 4

Circling around the outskirts of the penitentiary, Kitt homed in on his partner. He had never heard Michael use that tone of voice before. He sounded terrified, broken - to coin a human phrase. He hadn't asked for permission to get Michael. He didn't want to take the chance that Devon might say no.

He could get to Michael easily enough; jump the surrounding fence, through the lower wall that would put him in the solitary confinement hallway. From there It would be Michael's job to get to the car. The cells were small, if he tried to go through the outer wall directly into Michael's cell, there was a sizable chance he would bring the roof down on his already injured partner.

"Michael?" What he would have given to have the comlink signal at that moment. The tags allowed conversation only, not the steady input of Michael's vital signs. Three more calls later, Michael finally answered him.

"Kitt..?" Michael's voice was growing weaker.

"I'm right outside. When I enter the building, I will be approximately three doors down the right hand side corridor from your location. You will have to get to me."

"How much time will I have?"

"Not very much, I'm afraid. The debris will hinder the guards, but not for long."

"Tell me when." Moving to his hands and knees, ready to push through the door as soon as Kitt gave him the word. Whatever it took, Michael was ready to do it to get the Hell out of there.

The reaction was much as Kitt had suspected, yet the darkness of night gave him a great advantage. They shot at him as he sailed over the fence, trying to find him with the spotlights to no avail. Driving around the building in silent mode, lights off, he found the wall he wanted. "Now, Michael!" The clicking of the latch coincided with the thunderous crash from the far end of the building.

Kitt stared in disbelief as Michael appeared. His shirt was torn and bloody, as were his blue jeans. He was struggling to stand, tripping constantly, his hands leaving bloody smears on the wall wherever he happened to touch it to regain his balance.

"Hurry, Michael, the guards are in the corresponding hallway."

Stumbling up to the car, knowing he couldn't quit yet, he grabbed for the opening door. Half falling into the seat, grunting in pain as the wounds on his back were pulled, he reached to close the door and almost toppled out.

"I've got it, Michael." Closing the door as soon as Michael had managed to get back in, Kitt backed out of the building. The jostling was obviously hurting Michael, but Kitt couldn't let himself linger on that. They had to get clear of the compound first. Planning the jump over the fence, scanning as far ahead as possible, Kitt aimed for the softest landing considering the height of the fence.

On the road, Michael shifting time and time again, Kitt allowed himself to scan his partner. What he found revolted him. There were cuts on his face, bruises on his cheeks, chin, ribs and legs. Cuts and scrapes from head to toe, but what really bothered the AI was the welts. Welts on his back, on his arms and hands.

"They whipped you?" There was no keeping the astonishment out of his voice.

Michael nodded. "Yesterday, when they surrounded me." Feeling safe for the first time in weeks, his eyes fluttered shut.

Driving as fast as he dared, Kitt plotted the shortest route to the Foundation while contacting Devon. The older man was not amused at being woken up at this hour, nor with what he had just accomplished, until Kitt relayed Michael's injuries. After a stunned silence, Devon announced he'd be waiting with the doctor at the estate.

Michael shifted, moaning incoherently as his body tried to sleep. The sounds where the worst Kitt had ever heard from his partner.

Waking up slowly, Michael tried to figure out where he was. His body ached horribly, his head was fuzzy, but he knew the sounds, the smells - Kitt had brought him home. Opening his eyes he found Devon standing over him in the medical wing of the Foundation.

"Good morning." Devon greeted with a relieved smile. "There are times I believe that Wilton built this wing with you specifically in mind." Michael chortled. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"How much have you heard?"

"Kitt's report of how he found you, a rather disturbing one for that matter, and a phone call from the Warden. He tells a tale of you killing an inmate."

Michael's eyes dropped to the floor behind the older man. Devon felt his heart drop in reaction.

"I did it." There was no denying it. Not for his conscience, or from all the witnesses.

"Care to tell me what happened?"

Michael's eyes shot back up, hoping that maybe Devon would believe him. "From what I've seen, the bet is to see how long a new inmate will last. I think the guards are in on it as well as the inmates. They gauge you the minute you walk in, then test you. Mine was a knife fight in the cafeteria. I won. I think that gave me some leeway."

"And that leeway ran out yesterday?"

"Yeah. They cornered me, I'm not sure how many." Michael paused as Bonnie walked in. Unsure whether or not to continue, he waited, until Devon's brief nod encouraged him on. "I thought I had found an opening, a way back outside where the Warden could see, so I bolted. They had me down before I could get anywhere near the doorway." He stopped again, fighting the rising panic the memory brought forth. Taking a deep breath, steadying himself as he sat up, ignoring the pain from the welts, hugging the pale yellow sheets to his chest. "One guy had the whip, another had a piece of scrap metal..." Taking a shuddering breath, staring at the comforter wrapped around him, "They had me on my hands and knees. That wasn't too bad, but when the guy started feeling me up... Jesus, I lost it. I had to get out of there."

"I hate to ask this, but I need to clarify, are you saying they threatened to..?"

"Rape? Yeah, that's what they meant. If I didn't believe it in what he was saying, where his hands went certainly said it all." There was a darkness to his tone as he spoke. Glancing up, he caught Bonnie's horrified expression. "We all know it happens, I just never thought I'd end up in the middle of it."

"Your injuries prove what you're saying..."

"Everywhere but where they are supposed to be for crying rape."

"Michael," Devon sat on the edge of the bed, trying to maintain eye contact with the younger man. "There are enough people on the police force, enough federal agents who have worked with you, who know your methods who can back you up. Not to mention the Foundation and the Warden." Michael nodded, clearly unconvinced. "We've both been through wars, there are times when it becomes a survival issue."

Michael snorted, "I haven't felt like that since the war, since the camp. It was like my mind shut off and all I could think about was getting away."

"All of your wounds will have to heal." The implication was clear.

"Where's Kitt?" Michael was beginning to feel trapped again.

Recognizing the expression, knowing better than to try and stop him, "He's outside. I'll fetch you some clothes." Standing, he touched Michael's bare shoulder, feeling him flinch, though there was no visible mark around the area.

"Devon," Michael called just before he exited the room. "Thank you."

"There's no need. Did you doubt...?"

"Honestly, yes, I did. I'm still worried about Kitt's reaction."

"Kitt may need a bit more of an explanation, but to turn the tables, I'm feeling as though I should not have sent you in to begin with."

"You gave me the option, I took it. I'm just as much responsible." Though it shamed Devon, Michael's words eased him.

Dressed in an old pair of loose fitting jeans and a t shirt, Michael climbed gingerly into Kitt. The welts had been cleaned - some of them had already begun to become infected - the pain killers the doc had given him had helped greatly, let him think, let him breathe, let him escape the infirmary. He had spent too long locked up. To be with Kitt, on the road was what he needed - open space, fresh air, and Kitt's protection.

"Where to, Michael?" Kitt asked as soon as Michael settled into the seat.

"Anywhere, as long as we're moving."

"I'll drive?"

"Please." Michael sat back in the seat, closing his eyes, letting the motion of the car and Kitt's voice lull him.

Devon sat back in his leather chair, astounded. He couldn't believe what he had just been told.

"What?" Bonnie's concerned voice started him as she entered the office.

"They have issued a warrant for Michael's arrest."

"What for? He was in there because they asked for him."

"To stand trial for the death of the inmate. They won't even divulge the man's name."

Bonnie froze, her mind not wanting to grasp the implications. "But, they knew people were dying in there.."

"Yes, and now that Michael has added to that number, he is under suspicion as well."

"They would have used him, then killed him! You saw the state he was in when Kitt brought him home!"

"You don't have to argue the point to me."

Bonnie just looked at him. "Who requested his involvement?"

"As far as I know, the Warden - why? What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I think I want to do some checking. I'll inform Kitt too." Devon watched her stride purposely from his office.

He had slept, for how long, he had no idea. What he dreamed, he knew he would dream for a long time coming. He could still feel the hands on him, traveling over his body in a gentle caress, a touch that revolted him as the hands neared their target, a touch that caused his brain to stop functioning with any rationality.

He jolted awake for the second time since they had left the Foundation. His back was screaming from the sudden move and his legs had seized up. There was nowhere else he'd rather be though.

"What time is it?"

"After lunch."

The fear that had been nagging at him, grew tenfold at Kitt's simple answer. "I think we need to talk." He was too unsure of where he stood in Kitt's point of view to use any of the familiar nick names.

The car slowed before pulling off onto a quiet side road. Parking off to the side, in the dappled sunlight under a tree, they remained quiet for a moment.

"Michael," Kitt began, slowly, unsure of how he wanted to phrase his questions. "I overheard what you said to Devon." He watched Michael's head drop, felt his heart rate spike, and he caught the look of fear in his partner's eyes. "What happened in there, Michael?"

"I don't know if I can give you a good answer. The truth is that I can't give myself one. I lost control and it cost a man his life."

"There is no way for me to imagine what it was like in there for you..."

"That's just it, Kitt," Michael shook his head, his fingers playing with the underside of the steering yoke. "Up until that point, it wasn't that bad. Sure there were moments where I was worried. But when he..." Michael's voice caught and broke. "I've heard of the gang rapes in prisons, I've seen the aftermath of them. I couldn't let them use me like that."

"No, of course not."

"I was so... enraged that they'd try something like that."

"Michael, you have to let it go."

Looking up at the voice modulator, he was afraid he'd heard Kitt wrong. "Are you sure about this? I killed a man, Kitt. I did it out of anger, with no justification."

"I believe you are mistaken in that regard. I saw you crawl out of that cell, saw the blood on the wall when you touched it." Michael could have sworn Kitt's voice had become shaky as he recalled the night before. "I may not like the outcome, in any regard, but they would have killed you, that intention was clear by your injuries. We have made mistakes before, Michael, and people have died. How can I not grant you that when you need it the most?"

Relief washed over Michael, causing him to sag in the seat. "You have no idea what you saying that means to me."

"I know you, Michael. I know your convictions - more than anyone I'm sure - you would not have gone to that extreme without reasonable cause. We have other concerns at this point."

The feeling of dread invaded him again. "Like what?"

"There is an arrest warrant out for you."

"What?! They can't be serious?"

"Unfortunately, they are."

"We'd better get home then. Find out of Devon has an ace up his sleeve."

"Michael," Kitt called softly as his driver reached to ignite the engine. "Please don't ever doubt the depth of our relationship. I am more then willing to listen to you, no matter the situation. I believe I've proven that."

Michael sat back gently, sighing. "I'm doubting myself, Pal," he admitted bluntly.

"I can understand that, but we have to get beyond it to clear you."

"How do I get beyond killing a man?"

"By accepting that you had no other possible course of action. That if you had not fought them, they would have raped you, repeatedly, then killed you for enjoyment of it." There was a harshness in Kitt's normally gentle tone.

Michael shuddered at Kitt's candid description. His whole being reacting again to the feel of a hand that still lingered on his skin. His stomach churning again and again.

"Michael, we have to prevent this from occurring to the next victim. Whatever they may have done to deserve their prison sentence, they do not deserve what you are presently going through." Kitt stopped as his partner regained some of his composure. "Let's go home. I know Bonnie is looking into a few avenues. Let our faith in you help to restore whatever they may have stolen from you." Michael nodded, too unsure of his voice to actually speak as the engine turned over.


	5. Chapter 5

Michael sat back in a chair in Devon's office. He ached from head to toe. The bruises on his face burning into his skull. And he was hungry; a realisation he'd just come to, but he wasn't sure if he could manage to keep anything down.

"Here," Bonnie's soft voice over his shoulder and sudden appearance of a glass started Michael violently. Almost knocking the glass out of her hand, she miraculously managed not to spill any. "Sorry," She apologised quickly moving away.

Afraid that she'd leave, he grasped her wrist. "No, it's me. I'm just a bit jumpy."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, "a bit?"

Michael tried to see the humour in it and failed miserably. "I'm sorry, Bon, but I just can't..."

She held up a hand to quiet him, to let him know he had no need to explain himself. Making sure Michael knew where she was, she placed the glass of water on a nearby table then moved behind him. "Do you have a headache?" He nodded stiffly in front of her. "Then relax against me." Placing her hands on either side of his head just behind his ears, she eased him back to her.

Michael's eyes closed of their own accord as he felt his head pillowed against the softness of her breasts. Her hands began a slow massage from behind his ears, to the top of his head, to his temples - where she lingered trying to ease his discomfort without hitting any bruised areas. Then down to his shoulders and neck. he sighed under her attentions, feeling a large part of the tension that had been eating at him dissolve. Things were a long way from being resolved, but his family was standing beside him on this. It had been his greatest fear that they would blame him, or be revolted by what he had done. Instead Devon had been hovering, deeply concerned, Kitt had absolved him of everything - in the way only Kitt ever could and now Bonnie was taking care of him.

"Thank you," he whispered afraid she'd stop. Her hands moved to his neck, kneading just under his jawline where the large muscles flexed from shoulder to ear. "Thanks for the dogtags. I don't know where I'd be without those."

Bonnie chuckled softly, "You're welcome. I wanted to make sure you had a fail safe for when you got in trouble."

"When?" he joked softly, finally feeling comfortable enough to do so.

"When," she confirmed with her own smile. "I've been around you and Kitt for long enough to know you will attract trouble at some point." She moved to his closed eyes, softly circling two fingers over each lid. He hummed in appreciation. Her smile disappeared as she took the time to really look at him and account all his injuries. She was used to seeing bruises on his arms and face, but this was beyond cruelty. His throat was bruised severely, almost black from where someone had obviously tried to strangle him. He had a jagged gash that was now taped up across the right side of his face; even the tape couldn't hide the bright red and blackish yellow from the infection that had set in from whatever piece of scrap metal they had used on him. His lips were swollen and split in a few places, both cheek bones were black and blue with a sickly yellowish tinge highlighting them. Just above his left temple was a goose egg so swollen it had broken open and bled. They must have knocked him silly with that blow. He had switched to a button down shirt and left two buttons open at the neck. From her above perspective she could see some of the welts on his chest from the whip they had used on him. His hands lay palms up in his lap - both bandaged, both sliced almost to the bone from the lash. He had obviously used his hands to protect his face. She remembered them roll him in, seeing the blood covered seat inside the car and felt grossly sick. There was a part of her that wondered how he could lean back in the chair without causing himself agony. Another part of her realised that there would be no relief for the constant pain - only variations in intensity. At this point, considering his relaxed state, either the chair had cushioning in just the right places, or her massage was well worth any other discomforts.

She wanted to believe he was enjoying her touch.

Devon stood back from the doorway watching the interaction in his office. From his angle behind and slightly off to the side, he could clearly see the two without being in their direct line of sight. He'd never felt such deep fury as he had the previous night. Two doctors, plus himself had attempted to remove Michael's unconscious body from the car - only to be met with violent, and unexpected resistance. Only Kitt's voice, talking to his only partially aware partner had calmed him to a point where they could lift him onto the gurney. At that point, Kitt had given his report. Though, thinking back, the blood, the torn clothes, wounded face had been all that Devon had focused on - not the possible reasons for Michael's defensive reactions.

To see them like this was an enormous relief. He'd known men that had been raped - granted, Michael had prevented that occurrence by the skin of his teeth - but his initial reactions to being touched that morning were a long way from the responses he was witnessing now. His hopes rose in regard to Michael's speedy recovery. As well as towards the interactions of the two presently immersed in themselves before him.

A small smile touched the older man's lips. They did not see it yet - he was sure. He'd been around long enough to know the signs, the small changes that occurred in the beginning that would lead them down an all too familiar road for him. He prayed to whoever, or whatever might be listening to help them, to give them what they both longed for and deserved.

"I know you're back there, Devon. I can hear you breathing." Michael's voice held definite humour.

"I didn't wish to intrude." He admitted honestly.

"You wouldn't." Bonnie responded. She felt comfortable with Devon seeing this side of her, of her blossoming relationship with the man in front of her. She changed the massage slightly, to more of a caress.

Michael heaved a sigh, fear creeping up on him as the silence in the room extended. "Let's hear it,." he asked flatly.


End file.
